


Blood or Ink (Our Hands are Stained)

by HugeAlienPie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Comics - Freeform, Dead/Death Pool, First Kiss, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Stiles Stilinski Will Have None Of Your Bullshit Today
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 17:45:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3905218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HugeAlienPie/pseuds/HugeAlienPie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny just wanted to buy some comic books. That was the only thing on today's journey of self-discovery to-do list. Asking Stiles out wasn't on today's list. Having Stiles reject him <em>definitely</em> wasn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood or Ink (Our Hands are Stained)

**Author's Note:**

> Wrapping up [Danny Mahealani Appreciation Week](http://dannymahealanis.tumblr.com/post/115717106502) with a fic! This was supposed to be a couple hundred fluffy words of Stiles helping Danny get back into comic books. It turned into 3,300 words with a surprising amount of angst. And only a little comic books. Enjoy?

"There's so much stuff," Danny muttered, looking around in surprise. "Since when is there so much stuff?"

Getting back into comics after giving them up for several years was not like riding a bicycle.

Wide Open Sky was an open, industrial chic space along the same lines as Derek's loft. A handful of tables at the front of the room held artful displays of large hardcovers, while bookcases further back and along the outer walls overflowed with floppies and trades. It kind of made Danny want to cry for everything he'd missed.

He could do this. He'd survived a rod in his chest, paralysis from kanima venom, romance with a murderous alpha werewolf, mistletoe poisoning, and eight years as Jackson's best friend. He wouldn't be overwhelmed by a roomful of books.

He was overwhelmed in under two minutes.

Determined (possibly to the point of obstinacy) to find everything on his list or go crazy trying, Danny came around a new bookcase—and there was Stiles.

Danny wasn't surprised to find Stiles here. But he was surprised to find him like this, clutching a floppy and staring at it with the glassy-eyed look they'd all gotten used to after his mom died.

Danny took a few cautious steps forward. Closer in, Stiles' breathing sounded accelerated but not in panic attack range yet. He just looked . . . lost. "Stiles?"

Stiles shuddered once. His fingers still held tight to the comic, but his eyes sharpened in focus. He looked at Danny and blinked. "Danny-boy," he said weakly. "What are you doing here?" It wasn't accusatory; he seemed genuinely confused about seeing anything other than whatever nightmare he'd been stuck in.

"Hey, Stiles," Danny said. He smiled gently, though he wasn't sure Stiles noticed. He carefully pried Stiles' fingers from the floppy. Its edges were wrinkled from Stiles' grasp, and he had ink on his fingers, but he yielded to Danny's hand without resistance or comment. "I'm gonna put this back, okay?"

"Yeah," Stiles said. "Yeah, I—" He drew a shaky breath and rubbed his face with his hand. "It's about a werewolf who fights demons. In World War II Japan."

Danny hissed. "Maybe a little on the nose."

Stiles laughed wetly. "Maybe a little." He seemed to return fully to himself as they stood looking at each other. "Sorry I'm staring. I just can't think of, like, a single place in Beacon Hills I'd be less likely to see you, you know?"

The reply to that was complicated, but Danny offered as much truth as he could. "My old collection got left in Hawai'i."

As he'd hoped, that left Stiles aghast. "No! What happened? That's terrible. Okay, dude, let's start building you a new collection stat. Your lack of comics is clearly lowering your quality of life." Stiles charged up the aisle, earlier distress and questions of what had happened to Danny's old collection gone from his mind.

Danny paused. He'd pictured this shopping trip going much differently. But he hadn't been doing so well on his own, and of all the people he knew and could stand being around, no one was better suited to helping him pick out comics than Stiles.

 _Besides_ , his brain offered before he had time to stop it, _isn't the point of this to get back the things you gave up to be friends with Jackson?_

Danny sighed, told his brain where to shove it, and went after Stiles.

Comics shopping with Stiles was surreal. His questions flew thick and fast and didn't always seem connected to what was in front of them.

"Superheroes or no?"

"I like the ones who don't really have powers, you know? Like Batman, Green Arrow."

"And that answers the Marvel-DC question. Nice to know you do have flaws, Danny-boy."

Danny rolled his eyes.

"You like zombies?"

"If I have to."

"Star-crossed intergalactic lovers?"

"Who doesn't?"

"Ancient gods in modern settings?"

"Meh."

"PIV?"

"Okay, _seriously_?"

"No, I'm not saying—they have sex, rob banks, and evade the time police. That's pretty much all there is."

"Yeah, okay. But only because you said 'time police.'"

"How's your gore tolerance?"

"Well, I live in Beacon Hills."

"Yeah, okay, but what about food-specific gore?"

"I . . . don't even want to know what that means."

By the time they were done, Danny was carrying seven floppies, four trades, and three dauntingly large graphic novels. Stiles surveyed the pile and nodded. "It'll do for a start."

"A start? How fast do you think I read?"

Stiles' shoulders slumped, and he rubbed a hand over his face. "Right. I forgot that other people sleep."

Danny's hand moved without his say-so, landing on Stiles' wrist and squeezing gently. "Stiles—"

"What are you even doing here, Danny?" Stiles demanded, turning toward him with eyes gone suddenly hard and dark. He kept his volume down, but the intensity of his anger cut straight through Danny's skin. "What, Jackson's gone, so you thought you'd slum it with us nerds? Squeeze some hands, flash some dimples, build a loser army? Well, f _uck you_."

Stiles stood there, chest heaving, and Danny realized too late that whatever was going on in the guy's head had little to nothing to do with him. How long had it been since Stiles slept?

"Look, Stiles, can we—" Danny shook his head. "Let me pay for these before we get into this."

Stiles stared at him for another long moment before nodding tersely. "I'll be next door." He turned on his heel and marched out of the store. Only as he watched Stiles' empty arms swing aggressively at his sides did Danny realize he hadn't bought anything. Did he just . . . hang out here when the rest of his life got to be too much?

The guy at the counter didn't speak until he had Danny's credit card in hand. Then he said, "You're Danny, then."

"Yeah," Danny replied cautiously, though the guy hadn't phrased it as a question.

The guy nodded and said, "Stiles has mentioned you once or twice." Danny didn't try to pretend that didn't warm him as he signed the receipt. The guy held Danny's card just out of his reach. "We like Stiles a lot around here. He's a little shit, but he's _our_ little shit, you know?" He smiled sharply and held the card closer. "Have a good afternoon, Mr. Mahealani."

Danny opened his mouth and then closed it again. He'd just been shovel talked by a complete stranger. Over _Stiles. Was_ there a good response to that?

Danny walked into the Starbucks next to Wide Open Sky and didn't have time to groan at the length of the line before he spotted the table Stiles had claimed and realized it already had two drinks on it, one of which Stiles was nudging toward the empty seat and making exaggerated head jerks toward, like otherwise Danny couldn't have figured out that the chair and the drink were for him. Danny settled in the chair and looked in confusion at the cardboard cup in front of him. His gaze flicked to Stiles, who was shifting relentlessly and chewing the drawstring of his hoodie.

"Flat white, right?" Stiles asked, wincing slightly at the rhyme.

"Yeah, how—" He picked up the cup and cut off his question with a drink. "Thanks."

Stiles seemed to know what he'd been about to ask anyway, if his smirk was anything to go by. "Don't look a gift coffee in the foam, Mahealani," he said. Danny snorted.

Tense silence settled as Danny drank and Stiles, his own cup neglected, worried his drawstring. Then Stiles sighed and said, "About back there. I'm sorry."

Danny scanned Stiles' face. He seemed sincere. "It's fine," he said, and it was. It wasn't like he'd ever expected an apology out of Stiles Stilinski. About _anything_.

"Yeah, no, it's kinda not? I mean, my sentiment was fine, I just, sometimes I kind of suck at talking about this stuff, and I end up sounding like an asshole."

"You _are_ an asshole," Danny said automatically.

Stiles waved that away like he heard it all the time. Which he probably did. "I just—after everything we've been through, everyone's motives are suspect, you know?"

Danny _didn't_ know. Not really. Even while he'd been dating Ethan, he'd kept himself out of the supernatural fray of Beacon Hills. But he knew enough—Peter Hale and Gerard Argent and Ms. Blake and Peter _again_ —to understand what Stiles meant. So it was time to offer some honesty in return.

Danny could tell Stiles so many things about how he'd reached this point. He could remind Stiles that he'd been a shy, awkward, overweight eight-year-old nerd when his family moved to Beacon Hills. He could explain feeling like his life was turning around when Jackson deigned to talk to him, when he invited Danny to his lunch table, to his _house_. He could admit how long it'd taken him to realize that Jackson was treating him more like an exotic pet than a friend in those early years. Maybe someday he'd say all that, but for now he just wanted to extend the branch. Make a start.

He held Stiles' gaze as he said, "I did a lot of stupid stuff to be friends with Jackson. I gave up a lot of myself to be the kind of person he'd want to be around. That's not an excuse. I'm not proud of most of it. Now Jackson's in England, and I don't even know where Ethan is, and Lydia's cozied up to the werewolves." Danny shook his head and took a drink in a doomed attempt to wet his suddenly dry mouth. "I want to figure out who I am. When I don't have to be anyone in particular."

"Through comics," Stiles said, eyebrows tilted skeptically.

"I had a ton in Waimea. They're familiar. Were familiar. They've changed a lot." Stiles nodded but didn't say anything, and Danny plunged on. "Thanks for helping me find stuff. Must've been really obvious that I was lost."

Stiles smirked, but his heart didn't seem to be in it. "There's a look people get the first time they walk in," he said, gesturing at his own face. "Pretty easy to spot."

"Yeah." Danny scratched the back of his neck. Should he go for broke? "Would you want to do it again sometime? The—" He gestured. "—comics and coffee. Maybe skip the fighting?"

Danny didn't think he'd read the situation wrong. And, yeah, maybe it was a dick move, because Stiles hadn't officially told Danny he was bi, but small-town gossip was what it was, and Danny had been carrying this particular torch for too long to miss this chance.

But instead of looking pleased or saying yes or any of the reactions Danny might've liked, Stiles flopped back in his chair and gave a startled huff of laughter. "Wow," he said. "I never thought the day would come when _I_ would turn _you_ down."

Danny's eyes widened. "What?"

Stiles' tongue darted out to wet his lips while his gaze flitted around the room. "We should go outside."

It was several awkward minutes of silence while they gathered their cups and Danny's comics and made their way out of the coffee shop. When they stood face to face on the sidewalk, what had seemed like an easy flirtation suddenly felt like an unscalable mountain.

"Okay, what's going on?" Danny asked. Stiles tried to look away, but Danny ducked his head to hold his gaze. "Remember just now I said I was trying to get back things I gave up because of Jackson? You're one of those things. I mean, not a _thing_ , obviously, but . . . I've kind of been into you since we were 14. I know you're not completely out yet, but I like you, and you're not with Malia anymore, right?"

" _Stop_ ," Stiles said. His voice was hoarse and ragged, like he was about to cry. "This isn't—it's not about Malia, or whether I'm out or not, okay? It's about you being—there is literal blood on my hands, Danny, do you get that?"

He thrust out his hands, hands Danny had stared at and admired and fantasized about so many times, but now he could imagined them in a fight, or tending to his pack's wounds, and suddenly they looked fragile, like life had asked too much of them. "And maybe I could date someone who had no idea about this world. Maybe I could keep that secret. But I _will not_ —"

He stopped, and his gaze skittered away while he took a deep breath. Then it came back, locking on Danny's with an intensity that stole the air from his lungs. "I like you, Danny. You're smart and funny, you're hot like the _sun_ , and mostly, you're a good guy. But I've fought too many battles and carried too many coffins to be with someone who knows about all this and chooses to look the other way."

Danny swallowed hard. A rush of guilt and shame burned through him, leaving him feeling scalded and raw. Part of him wanted to lay out his reasons, make Stiles say he understood why Danny would choose to sit this out. Another part just wanted to argue. To tell Stiles he wasn't being fair. But, in reality, his reasons were mostly centered around not wanting to die. They were valid reasons but not good ones. And when he thought about it, this was probably the fairest Stiles had ever been with him. Maybe more than Danny deserved.

Stiles' fingers, surprisingly warm for a guy who always acted like he was made of permafrost, curled around Danny's wrist, and Stiles' expression turned almost unbearably earnest. "Take care of yourself, okay?" he said. "The kind of enemies we make don't always distinguish between who's in and who's out." He squeezed Danny's hand and then let go, walking backward up the sidewalk and calling, "Enjoy your comics!" Then he got tangled up with a dog and its leash and its human, coming from the opposite direction. He flailed and cursed and finally righted himself with a sheepish smile before rushing off without another look in Danny's direction.

Stiles was hardly the first guy to turn Danny down. But he was the first to cut so deeply, because he was the first to rip out a part of Danny that felt rotten and hold it in front of his eyes so he couldn't look away.

Danny stood on the sidewalk for a long time staring in the direction Stiles had gone.

*

**_Two weeks later . . ._ **

Danny got past the new deputy—Parrish?—by flashing his dimples and claiming to be an intern. But the instant he was past the desk, the smile dropped, and he stormed into the sheriff's office.

Stiles, Scott, and Lydia looked up guiltily the instant the door opened, the picture of three people who'd never heard the phrase "plausible deniability." Danny was too pissed to roll his eyes.

"Danny, what—" Stiles flailed his arms like that would keep Danny from seeing what they were doing.

"Are you _seriously_ ," Danny ground out, stalking around the sheriff's desk and shoving a loudly protesting Lydia away from the computer, "trying to unlock the deadpool _from a sheriff's department computer_?"

"We were . . . here?" Scott said uncertainly. Danny growled and started unpacking his laptop from his bag.

"Wait, stop." Stiles waved his hands frantically, but his eyes hadn't left Danny since he walked through the door. "Danny, sidebar?"

Danny reluctantly stood. He gestured between Scott, Lydia, and the computer. "Don't touch anything."

Stiles made a similar gesture between Scott and Lydia and themselves. "Don't listen to anything." Scott looked beyond confused. Lydia looked far too knowing.

Then Stiles' fingers were around Danny's wrist, searing hot, dragging him across the office. They stopped, and Stiles searched Danny's face desperately, his heart in his big amber eyes for anyone who wanted to look. "Danny, are you _in_?" he whispered, and the _hope_ there—god, if Danny'd had any uncertainty left, it was gone now.

"I won't fight unless I have to. I can't be like you, going up against this stuff with only my fists and my wit."

"And a baseball bat." A small smile started to curl Stiles' lips.

"And a baseball bat. _Great_." Danny smiled back. "I can help with plans. And research. If you need that."

Stiles waved their linked hands like a flag of surrender. "Oh my _god_ do we need that."

"Good," Danny said. He tried to take back his hand, but Stiles gripped it tighter and looked at Danny like he was the greatest thing since sunlight. "Your intel is at least 12 hours out of date, and you clearly have no idea how to find the Benefactor or what your plan is if you do." Fingers itching to get onto a keyboard, Danny turned toward the computer, where Scott and Lydia were watching everything unfold.

"Whoa, hey, wait," Stiles said. He used his grip on Danny's hand to haul him back.

Danny grinned and leaned in until his nose brushed Stiles' cheek. "What's wrong?" he murmured.

"Nothing. Nothing. Just— _god_. Come here."

Stiles kissed like he talked, fast and insistent and a little vulgar. His soft, full lips were in constant, frantic motion. His tongue flicked into Danny's mouth and out again before Danny could react. Danny dug the fingers of his free hand into Stiles' hip. Stiles slid his free hand down the back of Danny's jeans. Someone made a low moaning sound; when Danny realized it had come from his own mouth, he wrenched away from Stiles before they stepped any further onto a path that ended with them coming in their pants in the sheriff's office with their best friends twenty feet away.

Danny snuck a glance at Scott and Lydia. Lydia was nodding like a beneficent ruler whose subjects were behaving as they ought—like _she_ hadn't been the one to give Danny a ten-minute lecture when they were 14 on why Stiles was an Inappropriate Crush Object. Scott was _beaming_ , and Danny grinned back. You couldn't not return that smile.

"Okay," Danny said, returning to the desk and mostly ignoring the Stiles-shaped limpet clinging to his side. "Quiet people can stay. Loud people, there's the door."

Lydia and Scott were on the move instantly. "I need a break," Scott said.

"I need _coffee_ ," Lydia said.

At the door they paused and looked expectantly at Stiles. Stiles looked like he had every intention of staying at Danny's side, an instinct Danny was happy to encourage.

"Stiles, buddy, you coming?" Scott asked hesitantly.

Stiles scooched closer to Danny. "Uh, _no_."

"Stiles." Lydia put a hand on her hip. "Danny said quiet people. You are the polar opposite of quiet people."

"What? I can—why do you—slander!"

Danny laughed. "Stiles, relax." He tossed over his backpack, which Stiles bobbled twice before catching—upside-down. "Read some comic books."

Stiles peered into the bag and burst out laughing. Lydia and Scott looked confused, but they shrugged and slipped out of the office. Once they were gone, Stiles pulled out the stack of brand new comics, kissed Danny again, quick and messy, and dropped into one of his father's visitor chairs as Danny settled in to work.

"Oh, Danny-boy," Stiles said with fond frustration, "what are you gonna do to me?"

Danny raised an eyebrow. " _Me_?" he asked with an innocent smile. Stiles countered with a flat, unimpressed look, and Danny shrugged. "Like the man said. You're my little shit now, right? I have to do what I can for you."

Stiles gave him a dazzling grin. "Danny, I get the feeling you're gonna do _plenty_."

And, you know, Danny had the same feeling. It was like he'd felt walking into Wide Open Sky the first time: in over his head and loving every second. And damned glad Stiles was going to be beside him along the way.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment or a kudo if you feel so moved. Or come do [the tumblr thing](http://hugealienpie.tumblr.com/) with me.
> 
> I don't know if there's a comic about a werewolf who hunts demons in WWII Japan, but all the other comics Stiles quizzes Danny about are real and really readable!
> 
>   * _Zombies_ : Could be a lot of things, but I was thinking of _[The Walking Dead](http://www.thewalkingdead.com/)_. 
>   * _Star-crossed intergalactic lovers_ : _[Saga](https://imagecomics.com/comics/series/saga)_
>   * _Ancient gods in modern settings_ : _[The Wicked + The Divine](https://imagecomics.com/comics/series/the-wicked-the-divine)_
>   * _PIV_ : _[Sex Criminals](https://imagecomics.com/comics/series/sex-criminals)_
>   * _Food-specific gore_ : _[Chew](https://imagecomics.com/comics/series/chew)_
> 



End file.
